Militant
by Personality Test
Summary: "Is this the world I fought for?" "No, but it is the only world you have." Silver/Lyra. Gift fic for the ever-amazing Ten-Faced.
1. Militant

**A/N: This is a gift fic for my buddy Ten-Faced in celebration of our 300th PM (304 as of now, but I'm not counting). Tenny, I'm pretty sure I told you I was going to write a fic based on that song, so you got some kind of a hint, right, right? Eh, never mind. Mind you, I had that song on repeat the whole time when I was writing this little bugger - took me a week and a half, no thanks to exams, post-exam trauma and the omnipresent writer's block™. And I know you like Soulsilvershipping because of that one time you posted something on your profile (don't ask me, my memory is the equivalent of a goldfish's), so here's to hoping you like it. **

**P/S: Ugh 5,9k word, seriously. I hoped I could reach the 6k hallmark. Better luck next time.**

**Disclaimer: Man, I wish I owned Pokemon - that way I can be filthy rich and hire people to do my Physics homework for me. Oh well.**

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I. Act I

_Scarlet drips__ one by one onto the ground, like some kind of twisted __blood red rain. Trails of red flow in rivers, splitting and converging to create jagged patterns on the ground. She knows where each trail leads to, without fail. Each of them leads to a fallen figure, marked with a silver pillar to prove their valiance in the battle – she calls it blind obedience, thirst for power, or desperate souls who didn't have a choice._

_She doesn't know when she saw this blood-stained scene before, but it seems really familiar. She wonders if it is a good thing or a bad thing. She doesn't really care._

_She deftly sidesteps a cross-shaped pillar, taking care not to graze her leg against the razor-sharp edge –there has been too much blood in her vision already. She's careful in digging one sword out gingerly to make way for her goal, an ornate silver sword standing against the setting sun. She needs to go to that coldly-glinting cross. She needs to know if it really is his._

"_You."_

* * *

Lyra woke up with a start.

She winces a little at the vivid nightmare that, in all honesty, seems like a replay of the past. It does no good for her to reminisce about the past. It is the past – meant to be unchangeable, a scar in her heart, a cruel reminder of lost time memories. She's tried so hard to put to rest the bloodshed, the deep orange sunset, and above everything, the unknown boy who was just as lost and confused as she was.

She snaps out of her thoughts all of a sudden when there is a loud rapping from the door.

"Lyra?" A familiar voice sounds from outside. Platina is a little early today, is she? "Bianca asked if you would like her to fix the hem of your cloak. She thinks she messed up the needlework a little bit."

She smiles a little bit, but the smile darkens soon enough at the dangerous prospect. "No, I-I'm fine. Tell Bianca the cloak is beautiful, and I really like the intricate details. I just…" Lyra breathes out a little and mentally prepares herself for the lie she's been dreading. "I just need a moment, you know. To think a little bit."

"I know you don't want to go through with the declaration of war." Platina's voice suddenly turned serious. "But it's necessary. The people are frenzied by rumors. They want someone to blame, and we all know that the evidence is telling enough for them. You know we have no choice."

"I do." She answers morosely. "It doesn't mean I have to like it."

Was ten years ago the same? Did the governors and kings sit down on a round table to discuss the turmoil their citizens had wrought? Did the same turbulence give them no choice but to charge headfirst into the battle of the century? She feels dizzy at the mere horrifying thought.

"You should change your clothes, Platina. The lab coat suits you, but it's hardly flattering." Lyra smiles, and adds as an afterthought. "Could you bring me a vaccine? I've heard there are some areas we are going through that might still be infected."

_Not that it matters anymore_, she thinks darkly. How ironic, that she's worried about a flu in the process of condemning both countries to a certain death sentence.

"Yes, ma'am."

As the girl's footsteps recede, Lyra heaves out a weary sigh. She looks out of her window, toward the horizon and the daily life of her people between them. It's no longer just a day in the life – not for her, not for them, not for anyone. It's a new chapter of the history books, one that is flecked with blood and despair.

It's a chess match where the queen has already fallen.

* * *

II. Act II

"_Who are you?" She asks uncertainly, eyes directed at the unknown boy. _

"_I don't really know." He says like it is the most natural thing anyone can say. "They used to call me 'kid', 'red-headed brat', 'masked kid', but mostly it's 'red-headed brat'. They usually shorten it to 'brat' for communications purpose, though."_

"_Um, I don't really feel comfortable calling you a brat…" Her voice trails off pitifully. He raises an eyebrow and gives her a look that scares her a little bit – like he is judging, criticizing and seeing through her all at once. He's nothing like Ethan, whose eyes are bright and full of wonder; but then again, Ethan's lifeless eyes cannot hold his dreams anymore, and the thought makes her want to break down and weep. Still, she keeps her eyes firmly fixed on the sword on the horizon – she hasn't known if it is him or not._

"…_Silver." He says all of a sudden._

"_Excuse me?"_

"_My sister used to call me Silver. Since she…she isn't here anymore, I suppose you…I mean, you can call me that. No one else is going to, anyway."_

_Silver. That's a good name – it matches his eyes. _

"_I'm sorry." She says, but it sounds a little hollow. "About your sister. Is…Is that her?"_

_She tries not to look at the dagger – headstone, more like – at the head of what looks like a makeshift grave, one among many others. _

"_Yeah. That's her." He mutters quietly._

"_I'm…sorry for your loss. How did she die?"_

"_Knife wound, straight to the heart, dead before she hit the ground." He recounts calmly as if reading from a book, one he has read a thousand times. "By the looks of it, her body was discovered from enemy troops. They kicked her around a few times, did not have the time or energy to stick around to drag her back, make an example of her. No visible external damage aside from the killing blow; she is as good as can be expected, I suppose."_

"_What did she do?" The question itself was vague, but he got the point completely._

"_Something to do with intelligence. I never cared enough to know, she thought it was for the best. Now I wish I knew, though. Funny how it killed her in the end."_

_Intelligence. It sounds so far-fetched a word, when all she knows are swords and crossbows and brute force. It is strange to know reconnaissance exist, even in this day and age._

"_That's how she died." He continues before she can say another word. "They got to a dead end. Her partner saw no way out, so he killed her and then himself. He isn't here." He adds as she opens her mouth – his pretentious nature is something else, and it makes her want to knock him off his high horse. "I never liked him anyway."_

_Despite herself, she has to smile a little bit. Here he is, a jealous, protective little brother even in the middle of carnage and destruction. He is childish, and she suddenly finds herself wishing for that._

"_She's luckier than most." Her words are concise, and some won't understand from just that – why is his sister lucky? In what aspect? Is she lucky because she had someone who loves her enough to mourn her, or because she has someone who loves her enough to murder her? So many questions she'd rather leave unanswered, but he doesn't ask any. He nods lightly, as if he understands._

"_Yeah. Yeah, she is."_

* * *

"It's the Queen." She hears some people, faces in a crowd, whisper. "She looks paler than usual, don't you think?"

_What does it matter to you?_ She mentally snarks, but decides not to open her mouth – she doesn't want an uprising on her already full plate. Then again, Lyra would happily take an uprising over a war – at least it would be the lesser of two evils. She just wants to blend in, honestly. A last taste of normal daily life before the world goes up in flames, according to Shauntal. Ever the poet, she is.

Really, Lyra is even taking the trouble to use normal clothes and everything that comes with the package, and somehow they still recognize her. Is it the face, the brown eyes, or the peculiar twin tails?

Twin tails. Definitely the signature twin tails. She frowned at the two offenders and, deciding that keeping her hair up is not worth the trouble of being recognized everywhere she goes, pulls her hair loose in one swift motion. Lyra also puts on the shawl she packed beforehand – there is nothing wrong with being a little cautious.

With the straight, albeit messy brown hair, an easily forgettable face with little to no makeup and an unassuming shawl, the queen is now just a pretty face among the crowd. She slips away from the bustling market and heads for the hills – where she can see the whole country spread out below, illuminated by the rising sun.

The hill is almost in sight, and she breathes out a sigh of relief. She only has a few more to go, it can't be that far, she's gone to the top once, twice, definitely more than ten times. Five years in between won't make much of a difference.

* * *

iii. Act III

"_What were you doing?" He asks after a moment of silence. _

"_What?" _

"_You ask a lot of questions, don't you?" Personally, she feels a little bit offended by that. "What were you doing before I called you over?"_

_Ah, that. She feels a little bit reluctant to talk, but glancing at the small grave is enough to changes her mind. Here he is, trusting a stranger enough to answer questions, practically laying out the stories of his childhood, however vague the details are – the least she can do is answer this one question. Just one, though. She is sure there won't be another._

"_See that sword, on the horizon?" She points to the sword standing still against the setting sun, and he nods in affirmation. "That's my dad's. I recognize the decoration and the details. My dad had it custom-made, and he used to let me play with it when I was a little girl. Not the best educational aid, but something good came out of it – I practically remember everything about __that particular sword__."_

"_He…is he up there?" And only now she sees why her mother once told, that condolences are the most hypocritical thing any person can say. Even when she said those words, even when those words are being parroted back to her – it is the most hollow feeling she has ever felt._

"_I don't really know for sure. That's what I'm trying to find out." _

"_I'll go with you." He answers immediately._

_Somehow, she thinks it is a little too eager – probing? – and quick on his part. Like it or not, they are strangers, and the amount of trust he is displaying now is simply appalling. However, she is wise enough not to tell him that, but instead settles for much more polite words._

"_Are you sure it's okay?"_

"_You ask a lot of questions." He repeats, and despite herself she lets a small smile grace her cheek. "It's the least I can do. What is your father's name?"_

"_I know I ask a lot of questions, but why do you ask?" This boy is getting weirder and weirder, and she is running out of time. The sun is setting, bringing with it the only glimmer of light she has left, the light she desperately needs. Soon it will be pitch black, and she will not be able to search anymore. She would die of accidental sword wounds before she ever reaches the hill. She needs to reach there quickly._

"_I want to see if I know him. What's his name?" He asks again, and there is just no point in ignoring the question._

_Her father is…was a great person. He was a constant presence for the first three years of her life, he was kind, he taught her how to swordfight. He was the one who took her out to the tall grass for the first time, he trained her and he was many, many things else. She warms up a little bit at the thought of him, and snaps back to reality as he prompts the questions again only to realize that –_

"_I…don't remember." The shocking revelation comes so easily._

_Silver is stunned. "What? How can you not remember your own father's name?" _

_She tries not to meet his eyes, but he forces her to – and something from her eyes makes his voice turn frantic. _

"_What was your father's name?" He is just shouting at her, now. "What was the color of his eyes? What did he look like? Tell me!"_

"_I don't remember." That is the only thing she says before despair overtakes her once again. "I don't remember."_

* * *

"Where am I?"

Her vision is still a little bit blurry and the darkness all around certainly doesn't help matters, but the weak rays of light filtered through the windows are enough for Lyra to assess her situation.

The room she is in belongs to the other kingdom's palace – meaning that she has been caught hostage. Whoever caught her tried to remove all evidence, but some things are meant to stay. The walls were pristine, meaning they are cleaned regularly. The paint job is marvelous, yet the walls have a certain ancient feel clinging on to them. Also, the tacky decorations say a lot about where she is right now – the silk belongs to a trademark brand from the neighboring country, the little wind chimes – sounds she used to love – now just make her feel suffocated.

She's in enemy territory.

The second thing she notices is her hair. Someone took the trouble to tie it up into twin tails, but this is not the normal kind. No, this is even worse. This is the kind of gravity-defying twin tails she wore years ago. The two tails curl upwards instead of down and god knows how her mother, with her clumsy hands, was able to do that back then. Someone has managed to replicate it. Someone from the past she has no wish to remember.

Gods forbid it is _him_.

"Oh, hey, you woke up. How you doing?" A voice sounds from the door.

The lights blare on and Lyra tries to shield her eyes from the blindness to no avail. When her eyes recover, she sees at a door a young man about her age, with explosive hair and eyes the color of…light brown? Not yellow, richer in tone…gold eyes? Yes, the gold color, one of the strangest she has ever seen. He's holding a tray of what looks like refreshments – she can spy Ruby Margarita and Blueberry Blossom even with her blurry eyes. Oh, and there is a Night Sky peeking from a corner – probably for a child.

"I'll have one, thank you." Lyra strides over and snatches the Butterscotch Daiquiri – never look a gift horse in the mouth, after all; and her kingdom, much as it pains her to say it, does not have the luxury of refined drinks.

Alcohol, it seems, always makes everything better.

"Interesting choice." The young man cocks an eyebrow in fascination. "I'll tell him you picked that."

"Him? Who is he?" She asks, but both her voice and his curious look tell her he need not answer that question. Couple that with the clear, almost _silvery_ drink she's holding…crap. Busted.

"Great, you passed the test. I'd hate to…uh, _dispose of_ a face as pretty as yours. He'll see you in a minute, 'mkay? Oh, and just a thought, you free tonight, sweetie –"

The Night Sky promptly explodes, showering them both with the distinct smell of chocolate, honey and lime – aren't they supposed to use lemon for this drink? The guy heaves out a heavy sigh, hands her a handkerchief and stalks out the door. "Seriously, don't do that! You and your darts are not exactly good for my heart, you know I've just had my shirt cleaned from the pink paintbrush debacle…"

The door slams shut, and Lyra is by herself again and god, that waiter guy has her eternal thanks for the much-needed drink.

"Bottoms up." She says to no one in particular, and proceeds to knock the drink out in one.

* * *

iv. Act IV

"_Calm down! It's okay if you don't remember, just try to collect yourself. Look at me." He almost yells at her face, but she doesn't hear any of it. _

"_No, no, no, my dad's name, I have to remember. My father was a great person, he was a constant presence for the first three years of my life, he was kind, he taught me how to swordfight, and his name is… No, no, no. My father was a great person, he was –" Shut down all outside interference, repeat the words, relive the memories, come on, her father's name was…he was…_

_And then he does the last thing she ever expects. He whips out the dagger from his sister's grave, and the next thing she knows, pain blossoms in her right arm together with a thin trail of blood._

"_The pain helps you concentrate." He tries to be nonchalant about the instantaneous act, but his hands are shaking just as much as hers. "Have you calmed down now?"_

_She nods, albeit shakily, and moves her arm a little bit to examine the wound, but the slightest movement is enough as droplets of her own blood fall to join the crimson river at their feet. She feels a little dizzy at the sight._

"_Shit, the cut is a little deeper than I intended. My sister was teaching me that, but…I never got the chance to master it." He explains, looking around for something that can serve as a bandage._

"_Your sister taught you how to stab people to make them focus?" In retrospect, that is a little mean, but at the moment there are dancing spots in her eyes and suddenly the sword feels miles and miles away from her grasp. She feels like laughing at him, at the damn cross, at anything, and she does. He looks a little frightened, but that in no way compares to what she is feeling. "How sweet of her."_

"_It's war." He mutters in a defeated tone. "People tend to panic pretty quickly; unfortunately, hysteria does nothing to help. Give me your arm."_

_She has to hand it to Silver – he really knows his way around wounds. The blood stops in just a few minutes, and the pain has dulled significantly. She is a little worried about him tearing his sleeve for a small wound, but he insists and honestly she doesn't have the energy to argue any longer._

"_Okay, so you don't remember your dad's name. No, don't panic, it's fine." He quickly adds when she starts to tear away from his grasp. "It's fine. Just your name, then. Surely you remember your name?"_

_Is she supposed to tell him that yes, she does remember when she clearly does not? She hardly remembers anything at all, not even her mother's eyes. Her mother, like her, must have brown eyes, right? They say daughters take after their mother, after all. She must have brown eyes, brown hair that always feels so silky and smells just like her. She must have a caring nature; a mother who wears a light pink apron and who will take care of her savings and sing a lovely lullaby for her at night…_

…Is it a mist, or clouds? Flagrant in the morning sun… _The lullaby resounds, and she remembers it. She remembers._

"_Kotone." That sounds fitting with the lullaby, a song her mother used to play on the koto – one of the only memories she has left."My name is Kotone."_

* * *

"Hello there, Kotone." The exact voice from back then startles her all of a sudden. "Long time no see."

"Don't be overdramatic, Silver." She scoffs. "And it's Lyra now."

"I like Kotone better." He shrugs and walks in the room, and – wow, déjà vu. He looks exactly the same as before, only a little more arrogant and stuck-up than the little orphaned boy. "Lyra's the queen, isn't she?"

"I'm Lyra, you doofus."

"Not with that ridiculous hairstyle you aren't." He notes matter-of-factly, and suddenly she feels the urge to punch him again – if only it wasn't a horrible political move and would make the war ten times more painful than she has intended. "For one, 'Kotone' isn't the queen. 'Kotone' is the girl who couldn't remember her father's name and probably not even her own. 'Kotone' is the girl who chose the Butterscotch Daiquiri on instinct. And last but not least…" His voice sends a chill down her back. "Kotone is not the girl who ordered a war on our heads."

"…"

Arceus, he knows. He knows even before she announces it and officially declares war. His eyes are still silver, but the only word she can use right now to describe them is steely; cold as ice, ruthless, the look he would use on his path to the luxurious palace where he is. It's the look that says _I will kill you, and I will watch you burn. _

"You see, that's why I like Kotone much, much better than Lyra. I wonder if I should eliminate her and bring the girl I knew back…Don't you think it would be a brilliant idea?"

Is…is he serious? "You're insane. No, you can't do that. You won't. That's not like you at all."

"Unfortunately, _your _Silver is not here. If I didn't know better, I'd say he died, but, well…he isn't." He pulls down a silk curtain and looks wistfully through the window, and she is tempted to join him – she does miss the light, even just a little bit.

The view spread out below her is amazing.

The hill is far, far away, but if Lyra squints she can still see the lush springtime grass. She would have reached the top if he had not had his lackeys knock her out and bring her here – she would have found the sword, still the same as when she left it on the top of the hill.

Now, looking at the nostalgic memento of her past bring back memories, both happy and bitter. She forbids the children from her kingdom to play on that hill, with legends of a tentacled monster that lives on a world opposite to this one. The monster does exist, but only in her most vivid nightmares. Every night, in the blue world where logic does not apply, she hears its desperate scream for freedom; who knows, that might just one day be her own scream. The lie is for the greater good – the children do not know they play on a graveyard, and they never will.

"It's beautiful." She whispers.

"I'll tell the people you said that. They probably won't care, with the declaration of war tomorrow and all, but it's the thought that counts." Silver laughs sarcastically. "Now that we've taken 'enjoying the view' off the checklist, can we please get to the point?"

Her owlish look must be impressive, because he sighs dramatically and reaches for another drink. "Honestly, do you think I kidnap queens and bring them here just to reminisce about the past? I want you to call off the war."

"No." Lyra answers in a clipped tone and heads for a drink herself – she probably will need one. "I can't."

"You're kidding."

"I'm not."

"You are the queen. You have a room full of albino rats, Arceus knows the reason why. Your topaz hairpin – don't look at me like that, I just know you have one – is even more expensive than your crown, which is pure gold and has a bunch of diamonds embedded to begin with. Now tell me why you can't snuff a declaration of war before it is even announced." He says, still in that disbelieving tone.

"Okay, first of all, that topaz hairpin was something I salvaged from the ruined palace," Among other things, which are the freakishly heavy crown, the relic statues and vases and a gold-coated laurel, whatever it is. "Second, the albino rats are for Platina's research, and she's experimenting on the plague years ago. Contrary to what you might think, I don't have that much power – those old men at the Council are more belligerent than you'd think. And third…" She takes a deep breath and grinds out. "We are only declaring war because you started it! You had White killed!"

"What!?" He asks in befuddlement. "What are you talking about?"

"Did you think we wouldn't figure it out? Your assassin is an amateur, no match for our military-trained guards. Leaving evidence behind is one thing, there's the fact that Sapphire saw his face. Did you think you could get away with it?"

"No, I didn't! We don't have assassins, we have spies –"At her suspicious look, he adds defensively. "And they're not the same. Why would I want to kill your little sister? I barely knew her!"

She retaliates right back at him. "Well, her blood is flecked on the wall, her room is trashed, her box of keepsakes is gone, a bloody knife is getting blood all over the carpet, what am I supposed to think?"

"I don't know; she ran away, maybe? Have you ever thought of that? She's old enough to think she can take care of herself and young enough to think there will be no consequences of what she's done - there's no reason not to."

It doesn't make sense. She knows White, and the brunette is not one to act so impulsively and impatiently…is she?

No, she can't be swayed that easily. He doesn't know anything. Why would he? He doesn't even know her. "White wouldn't be that selfish."

"Well, did you find a body?" Silver asks oh-so-casually.

"...No."

"Then yes, she can be that selfish, and we are dealing with the consequences."

Of course she doesn't buy any rubbish he's saying, of course she has no reason to believe that and he's definitely lying…but only, in a very, very minute probability…what if he's right? White is a good girl at heart, but even Lyra herself knows the girl is rash, disobedient if need be. What if she ran away without telling anyone, not knowing what she might have caused?

"...I wish she was dead." She whispers quietly and cringes at the sheer cruelty of what she's just said.

"Look on the bright side." If that is his attempt to make her feel better, he's certainly not succeeding. "As long as she is far enough, she won't ever know she's the cause of this bloodbath. She won't need to be dead." What if she isn't far enough? Will the guilt be enough to make her suffer, even die from it?

She scoffs at the irony of it all."You of all people can't tell me it's possible to escape from your demons."

"Yes, that's true."

She's feeling dizzy again, for the third time, and this time red rims her vision.

No, that can't be right. She's taken her vaccine, she's dealt with...no. No.

"How long have I been here?"

Please, let it just be under one hour, thirty minutes, maybe, just not one hour, say it's just been ten or fifteen…

"Excuse me?" He has the galls to ask.

"How long have I been here? Tell me!" She yells frantically, and he is taken aback. She doesn't mean it, but the surprise in his eyes even scares her a little bit.

"One, maybe two hours at most. We'll make sure to return you before anyone's noticed, but..."

"No, it's not that!" Two hours. Two hours. She's gone to the edge, the fever is almost unstoppable and oh Arceus why didn't she realize it earlier? She didn't bring any extra dose, she thought the trek up the hill would take twenty minutes at best. Lyra didn't know she would be kidnapped, wrapped up and brought to another country – why would she? "It's my disease, the fever that caused the plague. I have to take a vaccine hourly or else..."

Before he can even widen his eyes in surprise, he is interrupted by a series of coughs, and she removes her hand to reveal crimson blood dripping down her fingers. It's started.

"You're coughing up blood." He notes, and she returns the notion with a glare.

"Thank you for the observation. First symptoms are dizziness, uncomfortable feeling, runny nose, like any other fever. Worse is vomiting blood, fainting, and the most morbid is crying blood. I'll probably die if it gets to that, and no vaccine will ever be able to save me. That's why…I have a request."

"Name it." Still the overeager boy. Some things just never change, even when the world is ending and she is most certainly dead. Some things never change.

"You're developing weapons, aren't you?"

"I am, but..."

"I've lost this war before it even started. I was foolish to...well, choose the sword over intelligence, I suppose you would say." Lyra laughs mirthlessly. "So when it comes to it, when I start to have blood for tears..."

"You want me to win the war." That has a double meaning, and both of them understand it.

"Yes." She answers dejectedly.

"What if I won't?"

"Believe me, the pain from this kind of disease is going to be convincing enough. You will. Just promise me it's going to be painless."

She's finding it harder and harder to concentrate. Her vision is darkening, but she tries to keep her eyes open anyway. She still hasn't heard his answer. She needs to know if he will grant her request, one last time.

"…I promise."

That's enough, and she allows herself to drift off into sleep, just this once – she's just so, so tired…

"Thank...you..."

His frightened face, exactly like back then, is the last thing she remembers.

* * *

v. Act V

This is it. It is going to be over.

Silver nods gravely at her in acceptance, or in world-weary defeat. Lyra swallows the silver-gray pill - how ironic - and she waits.

She is five years old, and her mother with pretty blue eyes and a white apron makes a lovely breakfast with pancakes and eggs.

She is seven years old, and her mother's eyes turn red-rimmed, her face gaunt and her apron wet. Her father slams the door shut so hard the sound rings in the silent room long after he's left, and she doesn't understand why.

She is ten years old, and she misses Father's sword; she wonders when he will let her play with that sword again. Mother doesn't say anything, she turns away and busy herself with washing dishes - she's sure Mother has washed them three times already.

She is thirteen years old, and her mother isn't there to tie her hair anymore - she gets used to tying it on her own.

She is fourteen years old when she meets an unknown boy with red hair and startling gray eyes.

She is sixteen years old, and the only person eligible to be a ruler. The others are either too old, too young, or too disillusioned and she is certain she will go far. She rallies the people, she fights battles that lasts days, weeks, even months. Never years, because she never lets them go further than that.

She is seventeen years old when she coughs blood for the first time and realizes what she's worked all her life for is lost, completely out of her grasp. Eighty-five percent of patients survive this fever - she's just unlucky enough to be among the fifteen. Platina tries her best to work on a cure, but the girl warns that the feeble vaccine from two months of research might be enough only for weeks, months at most. She doesn't care.

She is nineteen years old – miraculously still alive – when she lets out a scream in her sister's bloodstained room, and the apocalypse begins.

She is twenty when she receives his last letter, only days after the declaration of war.

_Is this the world I fought for? -S_

He is also tired, then. Too tired, perhaps, even more than her. Still, she's certain he won't give up. Not until they've reached the end; and so she sits down and writes what might as well be her farewell note.

_No, but it is the only world you have. -K_

And for once in her life, Kotone has no regrets.

* * *

.

.

.

**A/N: Is it just me or is the ending kind of odd? I didn't want to put this at the beginning because of some psychobabble about how it affects readers' perception, that kind of jazz. Much as I want it to happen, I don't major in Psychology. **

**Also, this fic is unbetaed, so my apologies for whatever grammar mistakes and stupid typos found here. It's not like I can ask my beta to proofread this when she's the one receiving this gift fic, so...yeah. Spellcheck can only work so well as a proofreader.**


	2. Amaranthine

**A/N: You guys saw this one coming, right? I mean, the first chapter was something of a lame-o. I had to do another even if the danger of Physics tests and deadlines were practically five hours away, and it took me the better half of the week on this, too. Kinda hoping this is worth it... Happy Valentine's Day, and as usual, a big shout-out to my buddy Ten-Faced for this one. Couldn't have done this without you :)  
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**Disclaimer: LOL, if I owned Pokemon I would have bought 5 iPhones to play Flappy Bird (I tend to throw things around when I'm mad), hired a guy to do all my homework and used the rest of my wages to get through the economic depression hitting Nintendo hard (read about that somewhere...) Long story short, nope.**

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VI. Act VI.

_He hears distant noise, and he just knows here she is again, in his own throne room, no less – what an insolent girl – and he forms words in his mind, ready to scold the little girl as he strides in. Before he even decides on the words to scold her, however, the glowering expression fades and he is speechless at the sight of the room. _

_Scarlet. Blood flecks even the highest ceilings, the ones nearly fifteen feet tall, and some drip on the ground like a twisted rain of blood, straight from any person's nightmares. He winces a little and wipes a drop off his face, coughing in the pungent, metallic scent, almost tangible in the summer heat. _

_A trail of blood reaches his feet and he sidesteps disdainfully, eyes fixed on the one spot where the red is darkest. His throne. She, in her crazy, destructive state, must have somehow decorated his throne in crimson, and he would have to spend days to get the blood off the silver curtains. It's fine, anyway. He'll make her do it. She certainly has the servants and the time._

_He treads lightly on the carpet, stained red by blood – at least it isn't as bad as his windows, some of the blood there has already dried and it will be a hassle to get them off any time soon. The center of the room is in sight, and something, a silhouette wrapped in a shawl, sits alone, covered by blood and wracking with sobs. He reaches out a tentative hand – _

_The figure swivels around, startling him in the process, but what truly shocks him is the girl herself. _

_She is crying tears of blood. _

_Looking up close, he sees blood everywhere: in her eyes, the tiniest signs of red on every one of her fingers; blood trickling on her scarred feet, blood matted on her once-brown hair. And she whispers something relentlessly, over and over, and he leans in close to hear the one word that sends chills down his back. _

"…_Silver."_

* * *

"Silver!" A voice shakes him awake from the blurry dream. "Wake up, mate; Ruby's back from, you know, _that mission_. He says it's urgent."

"Gold?" He mutters sleepily. Don't people understand the concept of a nap, honestly?

"No, it's your sister's old partner who came back from the dead to haunt you. Of course I'm Gold! Get up, he's requesting an audience within ten minutes. Can you believe that this time it's me who have to wake you up? Usually, it goes like this…"

Obviously, as sleepy and light-headed as he is, he can't care to distinguish what Gold just babbled from the fuzzy splitting headache. "Can you whisper?"

"Not really!" Gold – the obnoxious bastard – shouts, and Silver cringes from his gleeful voice. He should've known better than to walk into that. "Been drinking again, have you?"

"You drink all the time."

"I'm not a bloody lightweight. So what was it this time?" Gold snatches one of the empty cocktail glasses and takes a whiff. "Still Golden Dawn? If you want to drink yourself into oblivion as soon as possible, I'd suggest a Collins 150 and not this little orange juice."

Silver mutters some obscene profanities under his breath and addresses the other guy. "I don't judge drinks on how much alcohol they contain."

Gold rolls his eyes mockingly. "No, instead you judge drinks based on _color_ of all things. I keep telling you you can't drink past just two glasses of that and you go for twelve? Stubborn twat."

"Go away." He snaps. "Tell Ruby I'll be down in a minute."

He collapses back into the bed as Gold sighs and turns away to leave.

This is the third time in two weeks, and he does not have to be Yellow to know it's bad. He keeps telling Dahlia every day that he isn't supposed to have more liquor and she keeps giving him more anyway. In her defense, she's also dead drunk every time he wants to replenish his night stock. They keep each other company for one or two hours, sometimes with Monopoly and Clue-do and slurred voices, and he brings back a full bottle to drink away the rest of the night. Alcohol always calms him down, and it helps that he and Dahlia have already been a staple at her bar every Tuesday night that Palmer doesn't even bat an eye. Then comes the next week, and the process repeats all over again. Even Gold says his life is pathetic, and coming from the guy who tries and miserably fails to pick up girls on a nightly basis, that's saying something.

He glances back at the table topped with empty cocktail glasses and notices that one is full – however loud-mouthed Gold maybe, at least he knows that Silver can't deal with his shit without being at least a little bit tipsy. He holds the glass up to the light and watches for a moment as the glow reflects off the nostalgic brown color, making it seem like a twinkle in _not-dead_ eyes that should be right in front of him, within his reach and not buried on the top of the grassy hill.

He proceeds to knock the drink out in one and watches in satisfaction as the light no longer reflects brown.

* * *

VII. Act VII

"_Your Majesty." Ruby says gravely, and he waves the salute off with one hand while trying to tame his mop of unruly hair with the other. The fashion-conscious weirdo would have a fit if he even took one step in any room at all with unkempt attire, and true to his reputation, Ruby's eyes glints dangerously._

"_I won't be king any longer, anyway." Silver hurries to cut him off before Ruby could utter a word. "I think those annoying Sages are trying to make a government in which people vote for their ruler – what a ridiculous concept, though I suppose I have to give them credit for that excellent idea and method. They're grooming a candidate of their own, last I checked."_

"_Do you need me to…" He begins to ask, but Silver stops him again._

"_No, I already have Nate on that. You just need to keep focusing on your assignment – we never know when the neighbors might suddenly decide they're better off without us, and I'd like to avoid fighting two wars at once if possible. It doesn't help that the queen outright refuses to have a meeting with us and completely isolated her land."_

"_Actually…" Ruby says hesitantly. "It's more than that. She had her doors closed and stays in her own room most of the time. I never once saw her come out, and Sapphire says she only appears once every few months or so. She completely isolated herself – I never saw her face."_

_Well, that is another problem entirely. "Well, do you know her name, for starters?"_

"_Only ten minutes after I asked Sapph. Can you believe that she forgot her own sister's name and had to call Berlitz to get it right? That is just disturbing. Ah, yes…" At his pointed look, Ruby faltered. "In short, the queen's name is Lyra. Does it ring a bell?"_

_Silver contemplates this for a moment. "No, as a matter of fact, it doesn't. Anything else to report?"_

_Ruby lets out an exaggerated sigh befitting the drama queen he is and procures a small notebook. "Funny how you say that, Silv…I mean, Your Highness, because I have a list. I've been chasing down everyone who's anyone in her life, and her names – plural – include some of the following; do tell me when something strikes close to home. We have Andrea, Carmen, Kelli, Kiyomi,…"_

_As Ruby lists off the names in the mile-long list, he drifts off to his own thoughts. He doesn't mean the neighboring lands any harm. He'd promised a person not to ever wage war again, and a king keeps his promises – no, this is purely professional and diplomatic. He only wants an ally for the civil war on the horizon and nothing else. People might disagree, give him pointed looks and makes snide comments on his kill count, but for once Silver is completely honest and - crazy as the thought sounds - pacific. As long as this is not an ally that will stab him in the back, he has absolutely no reason to betray them first.  
_

"…_Celesta, Yuki, Tamara, Linda, Sara…"_

_None of those names ring any bells at all. On the topic of names, how many names does she even have? According to Ruby, she's probably his age, which means she's changed names at least twice a year ever since she was born. Even with the war, who does that?_

"…_Karla, Miriam, Daniela, Diana, Fiona, Nikki…"_

"_Stop. Just stop. How many names are there?" He interrupts just as Ruby flips to the next page in the notebook._

"_Around sixty or so. Anything the problem, Your…"_

"_Just Silver." He snaps. "You've known me long enough. So she has sixty names, three for each year – probably more, and those people you asked just blabbed them to you?"_

"_I…may have used a more…extreme method, I suppose?" The red-eyed boy smiles a little nervously._

"_So you went around that country for…what? Two years? You even infiltrated the castle, and in the end you come back with a list of names, none of which rings true anyway?"_

_To Yellow – Ruby's partner, the one standing shyly by the door – the words are harsh. She flinches a little and excuses herself – for good reason. Everyone knows no matter who instigates, they're having a quarrel that few but some knocks to the head or excessive violence can fix. Honestly, even Riley with his patience wouldn't be able to handle Ruby's fashion-conscious nagging all the time. _

"_Like you're one to talk. What have you been drinking lately?" The black-haired boy sneers. "Woke up with a hell of a headache, did you? It makes me wonder what you're doing with your life – if people even see you like this, they'll be rebelling on a daily basis."_

"_I take care of them, what's your problem?"_

"_You're overprotective is my problem. The people don't exactly want curfew at night or restricted trade. Even novices can see that they want freedom –"_

"_Anarchy, more like –"_

"_And you're not giving them that. The preachers are onto that weakness of yours. It's Blue all over again, right, Yellow?" Ruby turns to the blonde for support – he would've had better luck asking a daisy. Yellow immediately blushes to her ears and, after a few furtive glances to the two of them, all but scurries out the door. That's Yellow-speak for 'Yes, I think Ruby has a point, but I don't want to make you madder than you already are so I will leave now.' Drats. To make matters worse, Ruby has that insolent grin on his face that makes Silver feel like throwing the guy in a remote dungeon, just for kicks. He's sure he can find a grimy, insect-ridden place that will make Ruby faint with just a glance. _

"_Fine. I'll lift the curfew. Just for the weekends, though; the rest of the week stays exactly the same." He concedes._

"_No." Ruby's reply is immediate, and Silver narrows his eyes dangerously._

"_Brat, you don't know what the hell you're talking about –"_

"_Yes I do, and my point stands. No. I'll take away your alcohol privileges if you don't do it."_

_This is a tough stalemate: alcohol and wounded pride, or keeping that pride intact but having to deal with the craps of daily life – nightmares, horrible memories, unnecessary flattery and plots of treason included in the package – without the incredibly useful buffer?_

"…_Fine. You can go tell Gold the curfew's off. He'll whine, but he'll deal with it."_

_Silver turns to leave, but Ruby grabs his collar and knocks him straight to the ground with one hit. Note to self: Tell Roark and Byron to hurry up with that cave excavation and find a hole for the bastard. Also, tell Bugsy to breed some special glow-in-the-dark spiders and inchworms. Ruby's torture dungeon will be a project of a lifetime. _

_He doesn't hate the guy or anything – they are friends, no matter how implausible that may sound. He, Gold and Lance are the few friends he has in this place – even if Lance is more of a mentor with the way he acts like a housewife. That's exactly the reason why Silver is tolerating this obnoxious guy; Lance will skin him alive if he finds out that his disciple wallows in self-pity with alcohol like a pathetic, depressed lovesick fool. At least Gold knows how scary Silver can get; Ruby just fakes obliviousness and goes with the innocent-puppy look. In the end, it's Silver who gets the bully title, which is just a total crapload. He can't lay a finger on the bastard, and he knows it. _

"_While you what?" Ruby scoffs. "Stuff your face with a couple more glasses and drink yourself into oblivion? You're not doing that – I'm taking you out. Change your clothes into something less regal…that is, unless you want me to pick out what you're wearing. And I can promise you it will be _very_ pretty."_

* * *

"What have you been drinking lately?" Ruby asks the moment he struts into the room like he owns it. Taking etiquette and throwing it to the trash bin seems to be in fashion these days.

"What's it to you?" He retorts, then stops for a moment to think. "And that sounds strangely familiar, now that I think of it."

"Two years ago, I think. That was twenty-five minutes before I dragged you back to the world of the living and pranked Volkner, which was exactly the reason why you brought him back to the palace to work in the first place. You owe me one."

"I do not. He says he has perfected his plan in the two years you were gone and he will pulverize you the next time he sees you; he has also bribed Flint into some kind of prank, and I will be assisting them. You have been warned."

Silver has a moment of satisfaction to himself as Ruby visibly blanched. Everyone knows Flint is the worst prankster anyone can have the misfortune to meet, and one way or another all of his pranks include fire; the better ones stop at toasted marshmallow or a section of charred walls, and the worst prank he ever pulled resulted in him being thrown into prison for a week straight…until he manages to burn the prison down, too. Silver has had to keep an extra dungeon made of granite exclusively for Flint (and some obstinate troublemakers, namely Gold) after that.

…Really, Silver doesn't lock people up that often. Only those who piss him off big time, which includes Gold, Ruby, Flint, and…practically everyone in the palace except Yellow. No wonder why Gold says he is glowering at everyone every single time. He's pretty sure he does that for a reason, and he also makes sure Yellow brings them food. Probably.

"As I was saying before you drifted to your own thoughts," Ruby's voice dragged him out of his reverie. "Two years ago and now? I see practically no difference, war or no. You drink even more, you shut yourself in your room with your liquor and hope for a hangover – which you can't have because you already drank so much you're immune to most alcohol anyway – and Lance's just about given up, which gives me no leverage over you anymore. That's why I think a…ah, _new perspective_, I suppose they say, will be good for you – and for precisely that reason I asked Nate to hurry his ass up and come back."

"I don't need anyone else to lecture me on what I should and should not do. It's my life." It's not like Lance or Yellow or even Volkner haven't given him a lecture already – all of those range from gentle advice to absolutely fired up shouting matches and (in Gold's case) ended in violence. Now, Silver is not particularly belligerent, but it was surprising how much alcohol can drain every sensible thoughts in his mind. He kind of likes that development well enough.

"And thank god I don't have the misfortune of being you. No, I think this one will even be Dahlia's new high-rolling customer, if you catch my drift. I have a knack of knowing who has enough sorrow in their heart to drown in and throw their life away, and I have a feeling you two will be great friends. Do try not to settle for ghosts of girlfriends past."

What did he mean by that? It's not like Silver ever had time for a girlfriend in a good long while.

"They're tied up outside, in case you've sobered up and decided to grace them with your bedraggled presence. Try to stay sober until after breakfast at least, will you?"

"Certainly not." He mutters in a surprisingly acerbic tone that Ruby, with his hearing, surely has no trouble comprehending. The black-haired boy says nothing, however, and the door slams closed behind him.

Silver really, _really_ needs another glass.

* * *

VIII. Act VIII

"_Ruby…" He tries to keep his voice as calm and businesslike as possible. "What. Have. You. Done?"_

"_Can you whisper?" Said boy massaged his aching forehead with a frown. _

"_Not really!" Gold, Ruby's reluctant caretaker – since Yellow ran off to her hometown for her vacation – yells gleefully, making the both of them squint. Heck, if his obnoxious voice even pisses Silver off, there is no telling what Ruby is going through right now. Serves him right – always yelling about Silver's drinking habits, but then he himself couldn't last three rounds. With a girl, no less._

"_Trust me, Thorton has that entire drinking game with the little tomboy princess on video, so you're dead either way. Second and more importantly…"_

_Ruby heaves an exasperated sigh. "Mate, I don't have all day. Pass me a headache pill."_

"_Somehow, I just found out from the queen – who, incidentally, is the very girl I met years ago – that you murdered your girlfriend's sister. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"_

_The reaction is immediate and much like the effect of a glass of wine: the haze in Ruby's eyes clears, Gold drops the antiseptic bottle he's holding – some of it nearly gets in his eyes – and Silver jumps back as Ruby stands up with a threatening expression._

"_How about this? I did not. I might not be the snob's best friend forever, but I am not crazy enough to throw her in a body bag. That is more your thing."_

_All of a sudden, visions of previous confidantes and failed traitors flash in his mind, every face to the smallest detail, plastered on a file with complete info, and all has a familiar red X crossed on their features. _

_Well, now, that is nostalgic, and something he definitely does not need to remember. _

"_And what do you mean, the girl you met years a–"_

"_Well, she is either dead or missing, and Her Majesty says Sapphire even saw the attacker." Silver snatches a Golden Dawn for himself from the silver plate Gold always has on hand and takes another – an Esquire – and hands it to the red-eyed boy. He needs at least some alcohol to blur away the vision of corpses piling up in his mind, and Ruby needs some alcohol to drop that particularly dangerous topic he's poking his nose in._

"_Brilliant shade of blue it's got there, but no thanks. Also, if that's the case she will know that I was standing next to Sapph the whole time and comforting her while she was crying her eyes out. I have an alibi, and I happen to have a suspect already in mind."_

_Silver shrugs and keeps the alcoholic offer extended. "Do try; I doubt you will regret a drink until much later. Why have you not gone out to beat the guy up yet? He did indirectly hurt your girl."_

"_Even if I already found enough evidence, I don't have the heart to make his life hell." _

_Gold laughs mockingly and Silver sneers at his words."You, not having a heart to ruin someone's life? What does that little princess do to the Ruby I know?"_

_Ruby scowls, his red eyes looking straight at Silver's. "She didn't do anything, you dolt. You and your little girl did."_

* * *

"Ruby, I will murder you. Painfully."

Those are the first words Silver can grind out as he sees the figures tossed carelessly on the carpet – it is sheep wool, the dumb idiot, how long will it even take to clean – who are just starting to wake up.

"You." The girl blanches in shock, and Silver completely understands the sentiment. "How did you find us?"

"You're really alive, then. What a pity." Silver says flatly.

"Don't talk about her like that!" The green-haired boy protests loudly, which only earns him a defeated sigh from Silver. Honestly, can't he speak a little quieter? That loud voice is not helping his constant hangover.

"Know some manners and control your mouth." Silver looks around for a familiar alcoholic drink and finds none – that bastard Ruby will pay for this – and so he has no choice but to actually converse with these foolish, ignorant, _fatal _children, who ran away from home without sparing a thought about the consequences it might bring.

Well, they do say ignorant people are the most dangerous kind of all - he has to thank them for the final proof. Silver takes a deep breath and speaks in what they call his 'sober' voice – he just thinks of it as being sarcastic.

"Welcome to my castle, children. My name, as one of you _certainly_ knows, is Silver. Pleased to make your acquaintances."

"Bullshit." A voice sounds, but it is not from any of the stunned kids before him. Gold carries his tray of multicolored drinks, all supplied by Dahlia and ready for any stressed random individual who can't stand the sight of their drunken king. In this case, it includes Silver himself.

"Oh, hello there." He says jovially, zeroing on the bushy-haired girl. "You must be the former princess, considering you look so much like your sister and all. Want a drink?"

"She's underage." Silver snaps. "Can't you leave us alone?"

"No she isn't, Nate says she's eighteen. Fancy a Butterscotch Daiquiri? Your sister loved that one."

"You knew my sister?" The girl, White, inquires. "And I don't like that one; it tastes funny."

"I didn't. This guy did." Gold points at Silver's direction with one hand and picks a highball glass from his tray with the other. "If that's the case, Evergreen is perfect for you. Cheers."

_Gold, you little traitor._ He curses the black-haired bastard in his mind. "We were…friends."

"Friends!?" The Golden Dawn Gold was about to hand him smashes on the ground, dirtying the carpet and flecking on his shirt in the process. "Pray tell, in what universe were you two _friends_ and not– mmhf!"

"Definitely friends, were we, annoying bastard?" He ignores Gold's muffled words and lowers his voice to a whisper. "Don't do anything, don't say a word, just look frightened and scram."

"What just happened?" The clueless kid among them all, N, asks in a confused voice after Gold has all but scurried away and the tray of glasses is mercifully left behind in his hurry to get away from Silver's sight. How Ghetsis thought this poor boy wouldn't ruin this kingdom to the ground with his complete inability to rule is beyond hiss comprehension. The girl, however, looks thoughtful, and he knows he'll have to beware of her.

"Nothing." Silver says in a sort of final tone of voice. "Now, what should I do about you two?"

* * *

IX. Act IX

"_More alcohol, I take it." Ruby says in a cold tone at the mountain of cocktail glasses piling atop Silver's bedrest._

"_Do I look like I give a fuck?" He can't think very incoherently, but Silver is pretty sure he just used the f-word. Then again, he's gonna use any and every bad word he goddamn wants. _

"_How bad is it this time?" Gold peers in curiously – his voice is loud, too loud, he needs to blur it away, where is the alcohol – and he winces a little, probably at Silver's pathetic state. What's it to him to meddle in others' business, anyway?_

"_Indiscriminate swearing drunkard state." Ruby states as if he's seen this a million times - which he probably has. "We probably need to slap him in the face."_

_Gold says gleefully. "You go get something for him to vomit on. I'll handle the badmouthing."_

_He is just about to fire a round of insults of the gold-eyed bastard – who does he think he is? Silver is the king here – when the guy promptly stuffs a gag in his mouth and Ruby jogs out, leaving the door open. Gold, however, shuts the door with a slam and removes the gag from his mouth._

"_What the fucking hell do you –"_

"_One Collins 150, coming right up. Interested?" Gold grins, and Silver is never one to refuse a drink; so he snatches the glass and down it in one. His vision blurs, and the only thing he can discern is Gold's bright eyes, like a strange nightlight. That's a good thing, right? Silver doesn't have to see anything else. He just has to focus on him, on the reason he's drinking himself into oblivion, on…_

"_Kotone." Silver feels like crying. Why does he feel like crying?_

"_What happened here?" Ruby's voice calls out from the door – too loud, he can't handle it, he needs to blur it out – and Silver reaches for another glass but ends up face flat on the floor._

"_Emotional drunkard state." He thinks that's what Gold is saying, but Silver no longer cares. He reaches for something brown, because in his blurry vision it is the only thing twinkling like brown eyes, ones that he prays would not be filled with bloody tears."Watch this. Silver, mate, mind telling me why you're taking an exorbitant amount of alcohol today?" _

"_Kotone…" He whispers, but Gold doesn't quite hear it._

"_Pardon?"_

_It's Kotone – Lyra! That foolish girl, always hiding her problems and suffer alone so that I wouldn't worry about her. She didn't even want to talk until I found out…"_

"_Found out what?" Asks Ruby sharply._

"_She's dying." Silver wants to erase the words from his mind, make the harsh reality go away, but he can't. "And that foolish, insensitive little naive idiot asked me to murder her."_

_Complete silence ensues from the two in front of him. "…What?"_

_"Somehow she knows about the poison I'm researching on, the one that kills in a flash and leaves no trace, and she wants me to use that on her because she already has one foot in the grave; and somehow she doesn't give a damn about whether I would want to participate in the grand scheme. No, she sells her country for a chance at a peaceful death, and she's making me pay the price for murder."_

_"Do you understand anything?" "I have a vague idea, but no." is heard in the background, but everything is filtered out and there's only his grief to wallow on. "This is her way of fulfilling that foolish promise? Relinquish what she's built to me and hope that I take care of it? How am I supposed to do that and not know that place is chock full of memories I want gone?"_

_Digging deeper, he remember bits and pieces. Her father's sword, which rests in a display case in her room. Her topaz hairpin, which she claimed to have traded for a grey scarf for whatever reason. The foolish promise that sounds nothing more than childhood fantasy, merely a dream. The nightmare he has where she cries blood and falls to the ground, dead as his blood turns to ice. The letter he wrote, and her simple reply._

Is this the world I fought for?

_That letter was written in a flash of sobriety, days after he shut himself in his room and contemplated what she could have meant by her words, arriving to the same devastating conclusion every time. The world Silver fought for is not one where she dies of a disease or leads an army against him; it was supposed to be something else, a disgustingly happy ending, maybe, but one where she lives. If only..._

No, but it is the only world you have.

_If only are the two saddest word, he realizes as her reply turn to ashes in the fireplace. He tries to salvage the pieces moments after, attaining first degree burns or probably worse in the process, but his reddening hands are forgotten as he reads the one piece he saved._

'Only'. _That was all the scrap of paper said, in her careful and a bit blurred handwriting. Silver engraved every contours, every loop of the word in his mind, and watched in hatred and spiteful satisfaction as the only remnant of 'Kotone' he has left burns and blend in with the ashes. Tomorrow Lyra will sneak off from her home and arrive here through the back door, and Gold will let her in. He'll offer her something to drink and she will accept, because he reminds her too much of her childhood friend to say no. And then she will ask for directions to the throne room because that is where he is, and Silver will be ready to hand her that despicable pill the moment she tears her eyes away from the grassy hill and the first crimson tears start to fall. And for once he will no longer care about the decorations or how hard it is to get blood out of wool, but only focus on what he is about to lose because of that foolish, foolish little girl.__  
_

_Out of nowhere, the flashback stops. Suddenly he doesn't feel like crying anymore and the traitorous tear in the corner of his eye is gone. He wants revenge on her for reducing him to this excuse of a wreck, Gold and Ruby for probing in; even Yellow for always running off to her hometown. Silver feels like throwing them all in a dungeon, maybe passing a new law and setting up a new curfew. The people will whine and protest, but hell if they don't know he's their damn ruler and they do what he tells them to._

"_Arceus, he's plotting world domination again." Gold's voice floats somewhere in the background, but Silver's too busy mapping out a weapon to destroy the world to take note of his pesky voice. He won't be able to constantly nag much longer. "Quick, hand me the Collins 150."_

"_You okay, mate?" Gold asks after he has taken a mouthful of the burning liquid, and Silver feels like punching a wall and breaking down at the same time. That foolish, foolish little girl, does she realize what she's doing and how it's ruining him? _

"_You stupid girl, what have you done?"_

"_Yup, back to emotional state." Gold stands up and picks up his fallen tray."Keep interrogating him and see what business he has with the Queen, both in the past and now. I'm going to refill my drinks and pray that Dahlia has enough stock to get us through the night with our resident pretty boy."_

* * *

"Good morning, Mr. Gropius - or do you even go by that name anymore?"

The green-haired boy looks up, a little startled, and answers with a calm voice. "My name is N."

With a name like Natural, Silver can understand why he chose that ridiculous moniker. "N, then. Have some refreshments - we've got a lot to talk about."

"What is this?" He shakes the glass with distrust, and Silver feels more than a little bit offended by that. "Long Island Iced Tea. One of my favorites."

Hearing the full name of what he's being offered probably calmed N down a bit...until he actually tries the drink and spits it out nearly three seconds later. "What the...this is alcohol!"

Silver raises an eyebrow.

"You never drank alcohol? Color me impressed you have managed to stay sane this far."

"My father was right. You really are unfit to rule."

"Perhaps." He admits. What is the point of further lying? "However, I can surely say that you two has had a hand in it, and don't forget your father fed you his ideas in order to brainwash you and use you as his puppet. I wouldn't count on everything he says to be true."

"Can you please put away your alcohol and stop speaking with that voice? I can barely understand what you mean."

What a cheeky brat.

Though, Silver has to admit, the circumstances are not what he would normally expect, too. Here they are, glaring daggers at each other on opposite ends of the meeting room, and they are not even enemies anymore. The Fugitive and the King, to be exact. Somebody should make a book out of this, he thinks with just a touch of irony.

"Fine, little brat. I want to talk to you about two things. First, it's about White. I'm sure Ruby has briefed you on this: she can't know about what your foolishness caused for us or how Ruby couldn't hunt you down because it would give his girlfriend – her sister – a heart attack. Surely you know what guilt can do, and she is better off ignorant."

He nods, and Silver continues. "The second is a simple request of mine – replace me."

N nearly drops the cup of tea he's holding – what is it with people and dropping beverages on his rare and expensive carpet? – and asks dubiously. "Are you out of your mind?"

"I feel perfectly sane, albeit a little light-headed as a matter of fact, but this has nothing to do with my decision. Replace me."

"And after you have fought tooth and nail for your position around two years ago, exposed my fake father and executed him for charges of fraud and treachery, what can convince me that you truly mean it?"

Well, still cheeky, but this time the brat actually has a point. The civil war two years ago was a vicious fight between him and the Plasma group – he usually likens them to a cult – which possibly worshiped this clueless, brainwashed kid and fought for him to become the new king. Too bad for them Silver didn't play nice; no, he's the type to poison the Sages' drinks and use illegal methods to record sketchy conversations. The people obviously weren't better off with him, but in comparison Silver is ten times better than that tyrant and he took full advantage of that. Considering their bloody history, it makes some sense, but it's been two years and the boy has to let things go.

"So that's that." He says to Gold after they have finished making arrangements.

"You told him that it's been two years and he has to let things go, and he does?" The guy asks disbelievingly.

"Yes, I did. It worked, what's your problem?"

Silver is really starting to hate that guy's Cheshire cat grin. "Any chance you can take this advice for yourself?"

"Not a chance in hell."

* * *

X. Act X

"Ruby said you're inviting me out for a drink. What prompted the rare sentiment?"

Silver looks up from his conversation with Palmer to see the brown-haired girl at the door, and he smiles just a little bit.

"Make yourself comfortable, White, or should I say _Your Majesty the Queen_?"

"Not yet. The coronation is three weeks away, I think." The girl daintily takes a seat next to him and, true to his guesses, orders an Evergreen. Gold is always right when it gets to matters like these, it seemed.

"Is it? I thought it's tomorrow. It's not like I even care that much anymore."

"Well, it's in three weeks. What did you call me out here for?" The girl turns to the barkeep with a smile. "Considering what this guy likes, a Millionaire for him, please."

"Close, but not quite; the usual, if you please, Palmer. Do you know what day is it today, White?"

"Thursday?" She answers hesitantly, to which he shakes his head. "Try again."

"Some national holiday? I hear they're having a festival outside, and Ruby's taking Sapph out, too. Looking at the guy, I don't think he even does that."

Close enough. "It is, but I myself prefer to think of it as a day of grim significance. Today marks your sister's death, I'm afraid."

"…Oh." The girl stops dead in her tracks. "Are you okay? Gold says…"

"Don't take note of what Gold says, three-fourths of them are bullshit. That's why I'm calling you here – I think you should take a moment of silence for her. She is your sister, after all."

"Do you take me for a fool, Silver?" White laughs humorlessly. "You think I wouldn't know how I killed my sister and ruined our country? I cannot mourn her death because I caused it – simple as that."

Sometimes Silver thinks he's surrounded by nerds and traitors. "N told you?"

"I forced him to tell me."

He contemplates this for a moment. "Sometimes I wonder if I should put him as King, since he is a little weak-willed, to be manipulated like that."

White shrugs. "I think he'll be fine - I don't make a habit of manipulation. Have you planned on taking Sapph away from here yet? I recall that was part of our deal."

"True to his wishes, Ruby is free from my service. Provided he keeps minimal contact with us, Sapphire will remain perfectly unaware about your not-dead status, that is, until another war rages and history repeats itself."

"Aren't you a real optimist." She says snidely. "So, as I have made clear that I have no business here, I should leave, maybe take a bottle to drink away the rest of the night. Goodbye, Your Majesty."

He jolts in shock at her words - didn't he think the same thing around two years ago and keep thinking that even now?

Ruby is right – he hates to admit it, but Ruby is right. He does know that they both are drowning in guilt, and they are more similar than Silver initially thought. That's probably why he wants to take his little princess away – history has a funny way of repeating itself, and Ruby does not want his girl to be collateral damage in the crossfire like her predecessors were. A smart move, but he rather doubts it. When there is too much hatred, Ruby will never be able to leave his past behind and move on. The demons will find him, sooner or later, and Silver pities him a little bit for that.

"You're staying." He decides before she can walk out the door, and orders another Evergreen. "Don't try to take all the credit, sweetheart; I perfected the poison myself, and I didn't destroy it when I had the chance. Should have taken her hostage and locked her in until she died, but I was too scared. We're just the same, you and me."

White sighs softly, but returns anyway. "Give me one reason why I should stay."

"Because it is appropriate. Because the unhappy has a responsibility to mourn the ignorant." He tells her the first words that appear in his still-fuddled mind, and they feel oddly right.

"…Yeah." She replies after a while and takes the offered drink. "I guess it is. To Lyra."

Their glasses clink together and he retracts his hand, setting the glass on the table without even looking at the color – it has turned to an obsession, Silver thinks sourly, and he wonders if Gold has some others he can try out. For too long he has unconsciously chosen the brown color that only brings misery; maybe, just maybe, he can choose another, something that never reminds him of those eyes again.

(Then again, he is a victim of the curse, and the knightess in armor is dead by his hands.)

"To Kotone." He says at last, and the name echoes in his mind time and time again, never to fade away.


End file.
